It was the eye contact that was as problem, i realised. i could not help close my eyes or look away. i felt ashamed, embarrassed every time, exposed, as if he was looking into my soul.
And he was and enjoyed it. And he would not let me close my eyes, or look away. “Don’t ever hide anything from me,” he would say, making me look at him. He would not allow me to be embarrassed or ashamed of my arousal, my own feelings, my desire to submit.
“Don’t. Ever. Hide.”
(Source: meistergibmirrosen)
reading this just made me say “fuck” in a tiny tiny voice.
This is when you say I’m a bastard.
You say it in your head, because you can’t speak.
You can’t speak, because you can’t breathe.
You can’t breathe, because I’m fucking the air from you.
Forcing myself deeper.
Slowly stretching you and holding it, until you give.
Until those toes curl and cramp.
Until I can’t tell the difference between my sweat and your come.
Until I hear those fingernails on the wood.
Carving marks that will make me smile.
At how beautiful wanton looks when I force you to wear it.
(Source: bigbadrntwolf)
